


Night time television

by fightingtheblankpage



Series: tv and tents [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, well by my standards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingtheblankpage/pseuds/fightingtheblankpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott finds himself unable to fall asleep, and he tries to come up with ways to fight it. The truth is, he’s too worried about Allison and his Mom. Somewhere along the way, Isaac slips in and fits himself in-between Scott’s rituals of watching (terrible) night time television and not talking about the important things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night time television

When he first became a werewolf, Scott’s been given a neat little package of skills: enhanced hearing and amazing eyesight, great sense of smell and improved sense of taste, unmatched strength and speed. It’s not all unicorns and rainbows, though; Scott’s pretty sure he has to shave twice as much as he used to, and the full moon can be pretty rough, too.

All those things were to be expected, and Scott could figure them out just from watching werewolf movies. There’s other stuff, too, les obvious. Like how Scott is able to pull an all-nighter and be **_mostly_** fine the next day. It comes in handy when he’s cramming for a test (yeah, less likely) or taking part in some Derek-issued stalking session in the woods (more likely).

Scott thinks it’s all pretty awesome, spending all night playing PSP and being able to gloat when Stiles falls asleep on their desk during the morning classes. It **_is_** awesome, until Scott’s life takes a sudden turn towards All Crap, All The Time, and he really wishes he could just sleep through all of it, and finds he **_can’t_**.

He tries all those things that are supposed to help you fall asleep but never work, and resigns himself to aimlessly surfing the net. It’s more of a Stiles thing, though, and he gets bored somewhere around the third night. He’s pretty sure he’s read the entire Internet. And most definitely seen every cat video ever.

Scott guesses he could ask his Mom for some helpful pills for that, but a. he doesn’t really trust meds all that much, and b. they probably wouldn’t work on a werewolf anyway. There is also a c. – his Mom is still too freaked out by the whole thing, and Scott doesn’t want to bring up his wolfishness when he doesn’t have to.

As the matter of fact, Scott is pretty sure his Mom is avoiding him on purpose. Well, maybe not **_avoiding_** , but it’s pretty telling that she’s been working nights for **_weeks_** now, and is either asleep or in her room when Scott is around. And during the day, Scott isn’t around all that much. He’s at Stiles’, pretending to help out with research, or at Derek’s, getting lectured on the alpha pack.

On the fifth day, Scott gives up completely and just drags a pillow and a blanket downstairs, settles on the living room couch, and takes up watching night time television. It’s mind-numbingly boring and doesn’t require too much thinking, which is perfect.

It all gets a little harder when the school year ends and Scott has **_way_** too much time on his hands. Without the distraction of seeing his friends on a daily basis – and without an excuse to see Allison at all – Scott starts going out of his mind. Plus, he’s pretty sure the holiday night time television is even worse?

Either way, Scott’s got a routine worked out, and he sticks to it. He watches the TV till 6am, and then goes back to his room before his Mom is back, pretends to sleep for three more hours or, sometimes, actually catches a nap, and then goes through the motions of beginning another day. It’s a routine works; it keeps him from going completely insane.

It’s all the stranger when one day it gets broken.

Scott is laying on the couch, staring blankly at the local newscaster and thinking about nothing in particular, when there is a soft, somewhat tentative knock on the door. It’s possible it’s some very weird burglar knocking, and Scott sort of hopes it is. He’s filled with restless energy that could use an outlet. Nothing quite like mindless violence, huh?

Kicking off the blanket, Scott scrambles off the couch and stomps for the door. He doesn’t even try to check who it is, just swings the door open, half-prepared to pounce.

“Hi,” Isaac says. He’s slouching on Scott’s porch, hands in pockets and eyes on the crazy side. It’s not his fault, exactly – Scott knows Isaac just sometimes looks like that. Like a psycho or a demented poet, maybe. There is always the option that Scott’s sleep-deprived imagination is running away from him. “Derek told me to check up on you. You weren’t picking up your phone.”

Scott almost never does, not when Derek’s calling, and it’s common knowledge. He shrugs, and Isaac quirks his mouth. “Well, I’m alive,” Scott says.

There is something wrong about this scene, and it takes Scott a moment to figure it out. During that time Isaac is simply staring at him – something he’s really good at – and if it wasn’t for the fact that Scott’s gotten used to it during the pack meetings, he’d probably be unnerved.

“You must be the **_only_** werewolf I know who uses doors,” Scott says and Isaac blinks at him. He’s trying to fit himself into the rectangle of light spilling from the corridor, his back to the darkness of the night.

“I wasn’t sure if your mom’s home,” Isaac says and it’s hardly an explanation. Her room isn’t the only one with a window. Besides, Isaac **_knows_** she’s not. He’d hear her in the house.

Isaac looks over his shoulder, but Scott can’t hear anything, and after a beat Isaac’s eyes are back to him.

“Night shift,” Scott says. “Uh‒ You wanna come in?”

Isaac perks up visibly and then tries to mask it up. Scott feels a pang of guilt for not asking earlier. It figures that Isaac must be starved for some company, having only Derek and Peter to talk to. Or, more likely, listen to.

“Sure,” Isaac says, shrugs. He follows Scott silently when he shuffles back into the living room and plops down onto the couch.

Watching Isaac is a bit like watching a half-domesticated animal. Scott really tries not to use the word ‘puppy’, even in the privacy of his own head, because that’s what Lydia calls Isaac, sometimes to his face.

While Scott tugs at the blanket to fold it chaotically and throw over the back of the couch, Isaac first looks around the room, then regards the couch, and finally eyes the floor next to it. And okay, Isaac **_is_** wicked tall, and Scott is proud to say that he’s gained some muscle mass thanks to the werewolf-and-lacrosse regiment, but still. They **_can_** both fit on the couch.

Scott pats the cushions encouragingly, and Isaac considers the offering. Scott tries to be patient with him – on some occasions Isaac can be almost freakishly perceptible, but most of the time, he’s emotionally stunted at best. He searches for double motives, tries to guess the meanings and more often than not, bets his money on the darkest outcome. He’s learning, though, and Scott’s trying to help him out with that.

Isaac sits on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped in his lap, partially turned towards Scott, but with his eyes fixed on the TV, where a stand-up comedian is ranting about something. Scott can’t tell, he isn’t paying attention.

“Why are you even up?” Scott asks. He almost forgot that it’s not, in fact, normal to just try to wait the night out. People have beds in which they sleep. Isaac probably has a nice nest somewhere in the Hale house.

Isaac seems taken aback. “I was supposed to check up on you,” he repeats like it’s the perfect excuse. “Why are you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. His eyes are blue, big and unnerving.

“I can’t sleep,” Scott admits. He tries to never lie to Isaac. It’s like that: lying to Derek is okay, because Derek keeps things from him, and Peter barely even acknowledges Scott’s existence, despite the fact that he’s the one who **_made him_**. Jackson is an in-again, out-again part of the pack, and he doesn’t want anything from any of them, or at least doesn’t admit it, content as it to let Lydia put him back together. And as for Erica and Boyd– Well.

This leaves Isaac. Save for Stiles – who has his own problems, way too many of them – Isaac is practically all of Scott’s pack. Not in theory, no, but in the way that counts. And so Scott adds, “For something like a month now.”

“Ah,” Isaac says. It can mean anything, but he relaxes, reclining against the couch, his long body settling. Scott sits more comfortably, too, and turns his unseeing stare to the TV once more.

They don’t say anything at all. Isaac leaves just before Scott’s Mom comes back home. They don’t mention it when they see each other during one of the impromptu pack meetings, and Scott thinks there is nothing to mention.

A few days later Isaac is back on Scott’s couch, with no excuse this time, because Scott doesn’t ask for one. And then again, and again. They exchange very few words, so that even when Isaac doesn’t show up, his usual spot on the couch still smells of him and it’s almost like he’s **_there_**.

***

One night, Isaac shows up with a couple of neatly folded pieces of paper. He doesn’t even knock at this point, just lets himself in and heads straight for the couch. For some reason it makes Scott feel a little warmer, a little less detached.

Isaac hands Scott the papers, his long fingers just barely brushing Scott’s. Other werewolves touch all the time, but Isaac hardly ever touches Scott. It makes Scott worried, like there is something wrong between them, even though there clearly isn’t.

“What is it?” Scott asks, just as he unfolds the pages. They are Wikipedia print-outs, but nothing about the supernatural, which is what Scott would expect. Instead, the title at the bottom of the first page reads ‘Insomnia’.

There is the slightest trace of a blush colouring Isaac’s cheeks when Scott raises his eyes to him. “I had Stiles do some research. I said it’s for me, I didn’t know  if you want him to‒”

“No, that’s fine,” Scott says. He starts reading, but really, there isn’t much that would help him start sleeping normally again in there. And anyway, now that he’s got company, it’s not half as bad. He can’t figure out why Isaac would take time to pester Stiles into doing this. “Thanks.”

It takes Scott some time to go through the whole text, but when he does, Isaac is still blushing. It’s not only **_not_** something Scott’s expected to see on Isaac, but also a general deviation from the normal formula of their meetings.

“It says there that insomnia can be caused by emotional reasons,” Isaac says when Scott folds the print-outs and fiddles with them from lack of anything else to do. He sort of wishes they could go back to staring mindlessly at the TV. That was nice. That was **_safe_**.

“Hm,” Scott hums noncommittally. He hopes that if he doesn’t argue, Isaac will just get tired of the topic and go back to sharing comfortable silence with Scott.

“Do you‒ Do you want to talk about this?” Isaac tries.

“No,” Scott says quickly and it comes out harsh, maybe because of his tightened throat. “Thanks, man, but no.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, and if he’s hurt, well, he doesn’t show it. Scott hopes he’s not, but it’s always hard to tell those things with Isaac.

They don’t talk about it again, but Scott doesn’t throws the print-out away. It’s soaked through with Isaac’s smell, like Isaac’s been holding onto it for quite some time before he decided to bring it to Scott after all.

Scott puts the print-outs in his desk drawer, and every time he opens it, his room smells of Isaac. The smell will fade with time, and Scott finds that he doesn’t want it to. He doesn’t want Isaac to stop coming to not watch the TV with him.

***

Isaac starts coming less frequently after that night, and Scott has a sinking suspicion he knows what he’d have to do to remedy that. He also knows that he can’t. How do you tell somebody something that you can’t even admit to yourself?

So Scott stays quiet, and just watches Isaac. He’s getting better at understanding him, too, and he sees more. He isn’t sure if it’s a good thing.

He can see how Isaac’s eyes stray to Scott every time they are in the same room. How **_hungry_** Isaac looks when he thinks Scott isn’t looking. How longing. How he angles his body towards Scott’s almost unconsciously, how his smile gets wider when there’s just the two of them on a stakeout or during training.

Not when they are in Scott’s living room, though. Never then.

It’s the most stupid things that sometimes trigger this strange atmosphere between them. The people on the TV say something, or do something, and Scott catches himself remembering a particular situation or trying to fit a line from a movie around his life.

A young woman talks about heartbreak, and Scott thinks about Allison and how they were doomed from the start. How he still wants it to work and is willing to give it his all, but she won’t take him. Won’t take anything from him.

An elderly man speaks about how sometimes you have to just move on, and Scott thinks he won’t be able to do that, not ever. He’ll wait, even when there is nothing to wait **_for_**.

A boy says that he didn’t mean to fall in love, he just did, and Scott’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. Because Isaac is looking at him, and Scott can’t do this. He pretends not to see, and soon enough Isaac turns back to the TV. The air smells of blood from where Isaac has bitten his lip hard enough to pierce flesh.

***

Scott can’t really pinpoint the moment he breaks, or tell what gives. They are sitting on the couch, like they always are – to the point where Scott can’t remember a time when it wasn’t a given – and there is some game show playing on the TV. The artificially-beautiful girl asks redundant questions, and from time to time, Scott can’t help but snort at the answers the probably-concussed participants give. Isaac smiles, too.

“You know,” Scott finds himself saying, “Allison really hated those, but I don’t know. They are sort of funny?”

They haven’t uttered a word in their sacred little space for almost a month now, and Isaac’s eyebrows shoot for his hairline, but he quickly schools his expression. He notices the past tense, he must, and even Scott doesn’t know what it means, so how can Isaac? But Isaac prods gently, “Yeah?” and Scott realises he **_wants_** Isaac to know those things. He owes them to him.

“Yeah,” he nods. “She had those quirks, you know. **_Smart people stuff_**.” He laughs depreciatively, but surprisingly honestly, and Isaac watches him like he’s been starving to hear that laughter.

“You miss her, don’t you,” Isaac says slowly. It’s not a question, because there is no question about it. Isaac can smell the sadness coming from Scott in crippling waves. “It’s okay to miss her.”

“I know,” Scott says. They are talking in quieter and quieter voices, as if afraid of breaking something fragile in the air, something made of thin glass. “It’s okay to‒”

**_To want this_** , he wants to say. Wishes he had the courage. But Scott isn’t the master of words, even if he wears his heart on his sleeve, so he prefers to show Isaac. Isaac understands gestures and touch, because it was cruel touch that made him into the broken thing that he is.

Scott’s fingers shake when he curls them over Isaac’s thigh, fits his palm to the denim. The shuddering breath that escapes Isaac is more of a painful whine, and he hunches even more than usual, like he’s expecting a punch. “It’s okay,” Scott repeats, tries to calm them both in equal parts.

“Yeah,” Isaac breaths out. “It really is.” He rocks forward, a gracious move that Scott hasn’t really expected – only he **_has_** , for months now, since the very beginning – and pushes at Scott’s arm until Scott gives in and lies down. Isaac slides over him, fits their bodies together, somehow, unimaginably. It shouldn’t be so easy, but it is.

Scott’s heart is somewhere in his throat and it fights to break free, probably wants to fly away from him. It’s good to know that it’s his again to give, even if he’s not prepared to part with it just yet, not after the last time. It’s good to have it whole.

Isaac brackets Scott’s head with his arms. He can’t possibly be comfortable, and he looks more than a little nervous. Scott, however, is calm. Oddly calm, considering the situation, as he lifts his hands to claw at Isaac’s arms, pull him down.

Isaac complies with another soft whimper, and he presses his lips to Scott’s in a close-mouthed, soft kiss. Scott’s never kissed a boy before, and he’s never kissed anyone but Allison – and Lydia, on one sad occasion – not really. It doesn’t matter much, because he is certain that even if he kissed thousands of people, he’d never be kissed with as much tenderness and care as Isaac kisses him now.

It’s experimental and Isaac is afraid of doing anything wrong. Scott encourages him with his hands rubbing at his arms and his fingers tangling into his thick curls, with his tongue licking at the inseam of his mouth. Isaac complies again, eager to please, and it gives Scott a strange rush to be the one in control. It’s wrong of him, he knows that, but when Isaac’s tongue slides against his, he can’t stop himself, has to get more.

Scott lets his legs fall open, manoeuvres Isaac so that he’s resting between them. They both groan at the contact and suddenly **_nobody_** is in control. Scott pushes his hips up just as Isaac grinds down, and they’ll have to try and take it slow some other time, maybe, because right now it’s all too urgent.

Purely thanks to his werewolf strength, Isaac manages to flip them around so that Scott is on top. They crash to the floor, but Scott hardly ever notices, too enthralled by Isaac’s head thrown backwards, his throat exposed in submission.

“I’ve never‒” Isaac pants, and then, “I want you to have it.”

This means more than Scott is ready for right now, but he can’t help himself. He’s been patient and he’s been giving with Allison, and now he just wants to **_take, take, take_**. He raises to his hunches, pushing and tugging Isaac’s shirt up until Isaac helps, tears it off, and lean muscles under pale skin are exposed. Scott pulls his own shirt over his head, and he barely even has a chance to toss it across the room with a sheepish smile before Isaac’s arms are wrapping around him, pulling him in.

Their lips smash together again, hands roaming. They are both inexperienced at this, but giddy and excited. Isaac lets out a breathy laugh when Scott tickles him accidentally in his attempt to mark every inch of Isaac’s torso with his fingers, and Scott grins so much his jaw actually hurts a bit by the time Isaac starts dragging his mouth along it’s line.

It’s Scott who makes the next step, reaches between their warm bodies and flicks the button of Isaac’s jeans open. He drags the zipper down, and Isaac’s breath is hot against his ear when he breathes in sharp sighs and lets out a constant string of ‘Scott’ and ‘please’.

Scott hushes him, whispers back meaningless words aimed to sooth, but at the same time drops kisses and touches meant to scorch. Finally, after more fumbling than he’d like to admit, he manages to free them both from the containment of their jeans. He has to shoot his eyes closed for a second, because the first contact of Isaac’s length against his and the sight of Isaac, lips bruised with kisses - **_Scott’s_** kisses – and colour high in his cheeks, threatens to push him right over the edge.

Scott wraps his fingers around them both, slipping through the pre-come and awkward in his movements. It’s good, though, it’s perfect, even, because–

Isaac arches his back and bares his throat again. “Please,” he whimpers. “ ** _Yours_**.” And this time Scott doesn’t deny him, fuck the repercussions, just lets his canines elongate and his eyes flash golden. He leans in, his movements becoming frantic, barely keeping any rhythm and he clasps his teeth around Isaac’s throat, keep them there for a moment.

Isaac is almost crying out now with every other move, and Scott can’t blame him, his own groans muffled by the skin in his mouth. He bites down, hard, and Isaac thrashes underneath him, spilling hot and thick over Scott’s hand. Scott keeps going, keeps his teeth in Isaac’s flesh, tasting blood.

This won’t heal instantly, he’ll leave a mark on Isaac that will tell everybody what they’ve done. “Yours,” Isaac repeats, coaxes. His fingers come to wrap themselves around Scott’s and Scott lets out an animalistic howl, lets go and comes over their fingers and Isaac’s stomach. “Yours.”

Scott tries to roll off of Isaac gently, but he’s pretty sure he squashes him a little in the process. He falls onto his back, but doesn’t move any further. The grin is back, but it’s more tentative now. He looks at Isaac, who is flushed, but he’s already starting to put his guards back up. He’s watching Scott warily, like he’s afraid of what Scott may do, and it hurts to see that look, so Scott reaches over, threads their fingers together, tight enough for Isaac to know he’s not letting go. They are both pretty disgusting at the moment, covered with come and sweat, but all Scott can smell is how his smell is mixed with Isaac’s, twisted into something new and entirely **_theirs_**.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Isaac says softly. “You don’t have to say anything,” he corrects himself quickly. Scott squeezes his fingers.

“I know,” he says. “Just give me some time, okay?”

Isaac nods, and then turns to his side, leaning on his elbow to place a sweet, quick kiss on the corner of Scott’s mouth. Scott chases his lips with his own.

It’s a nice feeling, having someone wait for **_him_** for once. But Scott isn’t going to string Isaac along, he’s not that kind of person. It’s everything or nothing with him – and most of the time it’s **_everything_** – and Isaac deserves it. Just as soon as Scott gets his life fully under control, he’ll make sure that Isaac knows that. Scott can’t just close one door and open the other, but he thinks they may have a chance, the two of them. The bite on Isaac’s neck stands out, red and angry, even if it isn’t bleeding anymore. Like a promise or a brand.

The TV is still on, constant and incessant noise, but neither one of them hears it, slipping into unconsciousness with their hands clasped together between them.

_~fin~_


End file.
